


bricks between

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Era, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Soulgaze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though Merlin’s magic did set him apart from others, he couldn’t help but think he could find a way to get closer, to pass for almost ordinary, if not for the extraordinary magic of the soulgaze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bricks between

**Author's Note:**

> So I totally borrowed the concept from the Dresden Files series. I'm sure it's in use in other media, but that's what I'm bastardizing this time. Just an FYI - Harry Dresden is Merlin. And I want everyone in the fandom to use the series as a secondary source for characterization. Because Harry "Gandalf never had this kind of problem" Dresden and BBC's Merlin are one and the same.
> 
> But that's beside the point, as I'm just stealing a piece of the 'verse for this story. It's a pretty simple concept, so I'm sure you'll all catch on. Hope you enjoy the story! Thanks for reading!

Merlin had always loved his magic.

In spite of the danger it brought to his life, in spite of the secrets he had to keep, in spite of his loneliness and solitude, he really did love magic. Everything about it – what it could do, how the energy felt coursing through his veins, how it affected the world around him. It made him feel special, important, _alive._

Though Merlin’s magic did set him apart from others, he couldn’t help but think he could find a way to get closer, to pass for almost ordinary, if not for the extraordinary magic of the soulgaze.

The soulgaze was a deep, inexplicable, unexplainable magic, its origins unable to be traced through time. It was instinctual in all those who practiced magic, and unable to be turned off or set aside.

Whenever a person of magical talent looked into another being’s eyes, the two could see one another’s souls. No matter who they were, no matter if the two of them had never met or were lifelong friends, meeting another souled being’s eyes could only result in a soulgaze, of seeing another’s inner being and having yours seen in return.

Merlin had been born with magic.

And therefore, the first thing he learned was not to crawl, to walk, to learn his mother’s name, but to avert his gaze from all others.

Hunith had kept him shut up in their house for good reason for most of his childhood, and the flying objects were only half of it.

She was afraid that her son would slip and look one of the villagers in the eye.

Merlin understood his mother’s fear as he grew older, but he was still resentful about the fact that he could never play outside or have a friend or be involved in the community in any way. It was only when he was a teenager that his mother finally trusted him enough to let him out on his own.

He had always found it very ironic that magic gave a person the ability to see directly into another person’s heart, but it kept him so very isolated and estranged from all other human beings.

Merlin assumed that the first person he soulgazed with was his mother, but his magic had made itself apparent on the day of his birth, when the skies started pouring rain the moment he was born.

He knew he could look his mother in the eye without fear of seeing anything; he knew in his heart that his mother was pure and good, and when he asked her about if she had ever seen anything in him, she had a small, strange smile on her face.

“That’s how I knew for certain that you were magic. I looked into my little baby boy’s face, not even five minutes old, and I saw a heart unblemished by age, by fear, by cynicism. I saw a tiny infant who would grow up to be strong, clever, and brave. The soulgaze is a wonderful gift, Merlin, but this world is not made of wonderful people. I have kept you from others so that they would not realize that you were magic when they looked upon you, but every time you look upon someone, it is not just you that will see who they are. They will see you, too. You have a dangerous secret, my son.”

Merlin knew she was right, but that didn’t stop the loneliness, the fear, the longing to just be able to _look_ at someone. He didn’t care about the soulgaze. Once the soulgaze was over, Merlin would be free to look that person in the eye without fear.

But that would take trust, vulnerability, the ability to let go of a fear drilled into him since birth.

Merlin consciously chose Will to be the first true soulgaze of his life.

Will had been the first and only friend Merlin had ever made. Most of the town assumed that Merlin avoided them and avoided their eyes because he was awkward and skittish – which he was. But Will had taken one look at Merlin and decided that they were going to be best friends despite that.

Merlin had it all planned out; he and Will shared the same birthday, and on the day they both turned sixteen, they would be in the woods on their own anyway – a camping trip, already approved by both of their mothers, as long as they were within a mile of Ealdor and came back the next morning. Merlin would tell Will about the magic that night; Will was his friend, and Merlin knew he could trust him with his life. With his soul.

Merlin whispered the words as they sat, shivering, next to a burning campfire. Will turned to look at him with a strange cock to his head as if he hadn’t quite heard correctly.

“What was that?”

“I said I have magic,” Merlin whispered, staring directly ahead at the dancing flames. “I have since I was born.”

Will was silent for a moment before saying “Well, that explains why you’re so weird.”

The two of them giggled quietly, and Merlin chanced a look over at him, the briefest glance into brown eyes. He could hold his gaze for a second and a half before he had to turn away.

“I’ve never told anyone,” Merlin bit his lip. “My mother will be furious when she finds out.”

“Show me,” Will said eagerly, and Merlin obliged, concentrating on the smoke billowing from the fire, reforming it to look like Will’s face.

“I’m not that ugly!” Will exclaimed, affronted, shoving lightly at Merlin, who just laughed again. “Well, I guess this explains why you never look me in the eye.”

“Can I?” Merlin said quickly before he could help himself. “I just – I never have. With anyone. No one’s ever known.”

Will grinned over at him a bit nervously, but there was the excitement there – of trying something new, something forbidden, something that would get them both an earful from their mothers. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I mean, I’d never tell anyone about the magic. So you don’t have to be afraid.”

Merlin repeated the words to himself in his head as he turned to look at his best friend for the first time in his life.

The soulgaze hit almost immediately. The world around them didn’t go away, but the edges of it became blurry, peripheral vision suddenly gone, and all Merlin could see was Will.

A farm boy, born and bred, and he knew that was how he was going to stay. He didn’t quite long for anything he didn’t have. He loved the little village, its quiet spirit, the way his home smelled when his mother baked bread. He wanted to marry a woman who baked bread just like that.

There was nothing dark in Will, nothing dangerous; he was a simple person with simple pleasures. He wished more could be done for the peasants of the land, bitterness toward the royalty and nobility seeping from him, his only true grudge. He just wanted things to be fair, democratic. A good life for himself, a good life for the woman he married, for the children he would have, enough money to provide for a farm and take care of his mother.

A good man, a decent man –

And for the first time in his life, Merlin realized that he didn’t want that. He loved his mother, he liked certain things about Ealdor, and he loved Will like a brother.

But he didn’t want to spend forever in Ealdor, have a wife and a few children, spend his days tending to a farm. He wanted something – _more._

It seemed like no time passed at all when they were snapped back into reality, campfire crackling next to them, and Will’s gaze bright upon his own, one of wonder and shock and a little bit of fear.

“What?” Merlin said with a breathless kind of laugh, hoping for some kind of retort from Will about how strange he was, about his quirks and how stupid he could be. But they didn’t come. Will just stared at him, breathing becoming a bit harsh.

“Nothing,” Will said, but the fear in his eyes that Merlin could now see plain as day contradicted his statement. “I mean – we’re _friends,_ Merlin. Right? We’re _friends._ Nothing could ever stop that.”

“Of course not,” Merlin said, and anxiety bubbled in his stomach. He wondered just what it was that Will had seen.

He didn’t ask, though. He didn’t think he wanted to know.

* * *

 

His mother was terrified beyond belief when Merlin said that he wanted to go to Camelot. True, it was the place where King Uther would send sorcerers to their deaths, where there were reports of people turning in sorcerers after simple accidental eye contact on the street, but Merlin had argued relentlessly with her, saying that if he stayed in Ealdor much longer, it would become just as dangerous. People were already suspicious of the estranged boy who never looked anyone in the eye – in a place as large as Camelot, Merlin had the chance to blend in.

He knew that Hunith comforted herself with the thought that perhaps her son was such a good person that anyone who met his eye might realize this and take pity on him, but Merlin knew a little better. He tried very hard to be good, but there was something there, something _other_ , that would be able to be seen, too.

But Merlin swore to his mother to be careful, that he was clever and brave, and he would do whatever it took to survive. She believed him.

Leaving Ealdor had been sad, to be certain – leaving his mother and Will behind was not an easy decision to make – but Merlin needed to see something other than the four walls of his home that he had never been permitted to leave. Something other than a sleepy village far from anywhere important.

There was no place grander than Camelot. There was also no place more dangerous, which, though Merlin would never admit it, gave it more appeal, an extra thrill.

It didn’t take Merlin too long to learn the tricks of the trade, of maneuvering around crowds, looking at people’s noses or eyebrows so that they would think their eyes were being met. Merlin was determined that this place was going to be different, that he could get close, that if he was smart and clever enough, he wouldn’t have to be afraid.

Gaius demanded a soulgaze three minutes after Merlin met him.

“I already know you have magic!” Gaius shook a finger in Merlin’s general direction. “I’m letting you stay here as a favor to your mother, but I need to know that you can be trusted not to get yourself, and me by proxy, killed for harboring magical abilities.”

Merlin stared at the ground, contemplating his choices. On the one hand, it would be a relief to have a person in Camelot that he could look at without fear. On the other, he wondered if Gaius would see whatever it was that was inside him and would decide Merlin wasn’t worthy of his help.

Gaius sighed at him, and Merlin glanced upwards to see the old man studying him with an almost sad expression on his face. “I gave up practicing magic long ago. It was the price for remaining here in Camelot. But even I cannot help the soulgaze. I avoid people’s eyes, avoid their souls, just as you do, Merlin.”

That gave Merlin the resolution to look up from the ground, across the Gaius’s steely crystal gaze.

The world faded away, just as it had with Will, until Gaius was all that was there.

The man had lived a long life, one of adventure, energy, vitality – he had been a joyful youth, optimistic and idealistic. He was a physician for no other reason than that he thought it was the best way to help people. He became involved in magic for the pursuit of knowledge, to find ways to improve himself and the world around him.

Uther Pendragon claimed the throne of Camelot, and Gaius had taken such great pride in serving him and the kingdom, in the way Uther and his bride, Ygraine, trusted him. It wasn’t a selfish kind of pride; it was the pride one took in a job well done, in a day of accomplishment.

But it had all changed when the Great Purge began, and suddenly, Gaius had to choose between that pride and standing beside his people as they burned.

Gaius thought himself a coward for choosing the path he did; he did not regret it, for he still cared for Uther despite his rage, and he still helped people throughout the kingdom as their physician.

But he had let something – a lot of things – go when he sided with Uther against magic. The most important thing being his sense of self.

The physician’s chambers returned to them a moment later, and Merlin looked upon Gaius with respect. The man might have chosen security and comfort over his people, but a man who had lived that long and made those difficult decisions deserved an inkling of respect, especially when he was so hard on himself.

The old man frowned slightly over at him, and Merlin felt his heart beat faster. Would Gaius kick him out, force him back to Ealdor, or worse, turn him in as a traitor?

But Gaius just shook his head slightly. “Well, boy, you’ve got _some_ brains in that head of yours. That’s a good enough start for me. We’ll work on the rest. But don’t think I didn’t see that antagonistic side to you that you keep so cleverly hidden from view. If you have a problem with authority, I’d avoid the royal family at all costs. The last thing you want is their suspicion.”

Naturally, Merlin picked a fight with the crown prince of Camelot in the next hour.

* * *

 

Arthur was infuriating as hell.

He was arrogant, rude, incapable of positive emotion, thought Merlin was a complete buffoon, treated the people around him as if their lives were lesser, and yet there was something about him that kept Merlin from wanting to murder him day in and day out.

And it _wasn’t_ what the dragon had said about two sides of the same coin.

Merlin was very glad that the dragon didn’t have a soul, because that was a soulgaze that he didn’t think he would ever recover from.

Still, there was a part of him that _itched_ to look into Arthur’s eyes, and not just to see what was inside.

He didn’t want to _look_ at Arthur all the time; that was for certain. Arthur’s ego was big enough without Merlin admitting that even to himself. It was because Merlin was rude and irreverent and wanted to piss of the prince of Camelot by staring him dead in the eyes at any opportunity, when other peasants and servants averted their gaze.

He couldn’t have Arthur thinking that there was any part of Merlin that was respectful. That was just false advertising.

* * *

 

Despite Arthur’s everything-ness, it took almost four years for Merlin to slip up.

It was bound to happen eventually; it was the kind of thing that Merlin thought of late in the night until he made himself sick with anxiety. He knew that it was only a matter of time, that he would get clumsy and careless and would look at some random passerby on the street, or he would trust the wrong person and let them inside, or he would look at Arthur for too long one night – and God only knew how many times _that_ call was far too close.

Actually, it ended up being none of those things.

“Really, Gwaine?” Merlin groaned, trying to keep the heavier man propped up against his side as he dragged him away from the tavern and back toward the castle. “You’ve been in Camelot for one day. _One_ day. And you’re already getting me into trouble. God, Arthur’s going to kill me in the morning.”

“Let him!” Gwaine, in a sudden burst of energy, seemed to pirouette away from Merlin and out into the street. He kept alternating between falling over drunk and happy manic drunk, and Merlin wasn’t sure which he liked best. “You’ll be fine! I’ll stick up for you!”

“Yes, that’s going to work out brilliantly,” Merlin deadpanned as he tried to corral Gwaine toward the gates of the castle, but the man turned his head at the last possible second and Merlin didn’t look away in time.

Gwaine was a fighter and had been since before he could remember. His hatred of nobility stemmed from his knight father leaving his mother before he was even born, and he had never trusted a royal, or even a knight. He barely trusted men that were older than he was, too reminded of his father’s stinging betrayal.

So he had been the man of his household since birth, and took his duties there more seriously than he had ever taken anything else. He took care of his mother and the daughters she had birthed from different men. It was when his mother died that Gwaine had taken to drinking to keep himself sane, and he knew he had to leave the city he was born in. He traveled, gallivanted across the countryside, getting into fights, getting drunk, never finding a person or place worth fighting for.

But he had liked his odds with Merlin. He had never tried Camelot before; that’s why he was here now. Camelot and Merlin were the newest person and place on his long list of places that he didn’t quite know if he belonged.

Merlin felt a rush of sympathy as the soulgaze broke. He and Gwaine had more in common than he had ever expected.

Gwaine just looked him with his head tilted; eyes narrowed, and said “You’re like me. But scarier.”

And then Gwaine fell into the mud.

He didn’t remember the next morning, and Merlin didn’t tell him about it; he just enjoyed looking another person in the eye, seeing them crinkle at the edges, light up in laughter –

It was nice.

He missed Will.

And then Gwaine left, too, and he lost another connection, no matter how temporarily.

But he couldn’t forget Gwaine’s words – “you’re scarier.”

Merlin knew he had made poor choices, he had killed others, he had hurt people through his actions, but he had never thought of himself as something that people had to fear, especially people that he considered his friends.

* * *

 

After that experience, Merlin thought about trying to get Arthur drunk to soulgaze with him.

At this point in his life, Merlin could fully admit – at least to himself – that he just wanted to be able to _look_ at Arthur without fear. It wasn’t even just the fear; Arthur was his friend, his best friend, and Merlin couldn’t even look him square in the eye when they were having a conversation about something deep and meaningful. It made Merlin feel even guiltier and more dishonest about his life.

And the truth of the matter was, he didn’t _need_ to look into Arthur’s soul in order to see what was there. He already knew what was there. A generous, honorable man who always tried his best, who wanted to be a good king more than anything else. A boy who wanted to please his father. A boy trying his hardest to be a man. Someone who, like Merlin, used insults and snarky retorts to cover up true emotion. Someone who was afraid of emotion. Someone who wanted to be good.

And if Merlin told Arthur of his magic, and had Arthur look into his soul, then surely Arthur couldn’t execute or banish him – he would know Merlin, know of his sacrifices, of his care, of how much he –

Well, Arthur would know, that was the point.

But he would know the scary part of Merlin, too.

But getting him drunk felt dishonest, like a cop-out, and Merlin was struck with the realization that someday, he really did want Arthur to see his soul.

So he resisted the temptation.

But one night, Arthur was drunk of his own accord, and Merlin helped him back to his chambers as the other man stumbled over his feet, swaying, melancholic. Sometimes Arthur was giggly and stupid when he had too much to drink, but other times he was sad. This appeared to be one of those times.

“Up you get, Arthur,” Merlin pulled him away from the castle wall, directing him slowly toward his chamber door, keeping his own eyes fixed steadfast on the wall above them so as to not give into the temptation. “You’ll be angry with me in the morning if I don’t get you into bed.”

“No, I won’t,” Arthur muttered before immediately correcting himself. “Yes, I will.”

“Good to see you haven’t lost any cognitive thinking skills, m’lord,” Merlin hid a smile as he shoved Arthur into his bedchamber and all the way to the pristine white covers of his four-poster. “You’ll be in a great mood tomorrow regardless. Have I ever told you how much fun you are when you’re hungover?”

“Have _I_ ever told you that you’re…” Arthur trailed off, head nosing upward to find his pillow. “…an idiot?”

“Yes,” Merlin chuckled, resisting the urge to reach out and brush Arthur’s hair out of his eyes. “Any other complaints?”

“You don’t look at me,” Arthur mumbled into his pillow, and Merlin’s heart stopped short for a moment. “You’re my friend and you won’t look at me. How can anyone else ever…if you can’t, it means I’m really…all I’ll ever be is the prince. The king.”

Merlin’s heart ached with sympathy as he really did reach out to brush away Arthur’s hair. Though he was glad Arthur hadn’t pinned down the true reason for Merlin’s lack of eye contact, that hurt almost as badly. Arthur, though he was loathe to admit it, needed friends more than he needed subjects, and Merlin was undoubtedly the closest friend that Arthur-the-person had. Arthur-the-prince, of course, didn’t need friends.

“Go to sleep, Arthur,” Merlin whispered and for Arthur’s sake if not his own, wished he could just get it over with and look in Arthur’s eyes.

He was such a goddamn coward.

Not necessarily about the magic – but Arthur might see the thing that Merlin was afraid of.

He almost had a name for it now.

* * *

 

The night before they took Camelot back, the night Lancelot told Merlin that he was the bravest of them all, the pair of them lay facing one another in an ancient darkened castle, and Lancelot asked “Will you – I’ve never asked before because I didn’t know how – but will you soulgaze with me? I just – I’ve always wanted to know what makes you so brave.”

“I – yeah, I suppose,” Merlin said as if he had never thought about it before. Lancelot had known his secret for years, but he’d been absent for most of them. They had never really had the chance to have this conversation before, but Merlin had hoped that someday they would.

The room faded away a moment later, and Lancelot swam before Merlin’s face.

His heart was the finest, most noble heart that had ever existed. Lancelot would _always_ put his fellow man before himself, no matter what the circumstance. He didn’t fight for the fun of it, or even because he was good at it – he fought because it was necessary, and would only do so if it was right and just.

Lancelot loved fiercely – he loved Arthur like a king, Merlin like his brother, and Guinevere like a husband loved his wife. It tore him apart that she was with Arthur instead of him, but he truly believed Arthur to be the better man, the better husband. He wasn’t aware that there was no soul purer than his own. He only wanted Guinevere to be happy, and thought that Arthur was the best chance she had.

Lancelot’s face faded back into a view, and Merlin discreetly wiped a tear from his face. He had never believed there to be such a fundamentally good person on this earth. Except, of course, for Arthur, but Arthur made up for it by being a royal prat most of the time.

“We’re more alike than I thought,” Lancelot said quietly after a moment, not averting his gaze even slightly. “You love him. You love him like I love Gwen. And you’re giving up your happiness for the sake of theirs.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Merlin said, swallowing hard; it wasn’t something he liked to think about.

“Thank you for showing me,” Lancelot said with a smile. “I understand now why you are so brave. You have never had the option to be anything else.”

As Lancelot dozed off, Merlin thought that Lancelot might contend with Kilgharrah for the ‘World’s Vaguest Explanation’ title.

* * *

 

Merlin didn’t hold a soulgaze again for many, many years – and then he held three within the same week, the most important three of his life. One as the Battle of Camlann begun, one during the fighting and bloodshed, and one after, next to a campfire in the forest.

Guinevere came first.

It was an accident that Merlin looked at her as he was leaving Camelot, readying himself to meet Gwaine outside the citadel to leave for the Crystal Cave. He was terrified, shattered, lost without his magic, with the idea that Arthur could be riding to his death without him. He had never felt more shaken, more useless, and maybe that was what led the slip.

“Good luck, Merlin!” Guinevere called to him as he left her chamber, and he turned to face her, wondering if he would see her again. He remembered the kind serving girl who had been his friend and confidante, how guilty he felt at refusing to meet her eyes all of these years when Gwen was surely the greatest person he had ever met in his life, who could never hurt him or betray him, who would forgive Merlin for whatever was inside of him.

His blue eyes met her deep brown ones, and the soulgaze began.

Her regal velvet dress melted away, and in its place was the simple frock that she had been wearing when Merlin first met her. In her heart, she was that very same serving girl, always worried she was playacting at royalty, never fully understanding it, not knowing how she had arrived here.

Part of her longed for her days as Morgana’s maidservant, and for the days before that, playing with Elyan and Leon at the creek side, looking for frogs. She missed her friendship with Merlin, their easy smiles and jokes. Her heart hurt at the thought of Lancelot; it was a place not even the soulgaze could reach. More than anything, she missed Morgana. She missed the person Morgana used to be, the love they shared, and it broke her heart that Morgana was no longer the person she cherished.

And she loved Arthur; there was no doubt in her mind that she loved Arthur. But some days, that love felt like a duty, an obligation, something expected of her, and it had felt like that long before she had become queen. She loved him dearly but she wished for the day when they could piece apart their tangled love story and find a place for friendship there.

She was tired of being the queen.

She just wanted to be Gwen.

“I need  to leave,” Merlin said dumbly as the soulgaze faded away, and he noticed uncomfortably that Gwen’s face was tracked with tears.

“I know you do,” she said, holding her head high even as her voice wavered. “You’ve always had a lot of things you needed to do. I’m glad I understand those now.”

Merlin fled before she could hug him. He didn’t think he could bear it right now.

* * *

 

Merlin pointed the sword at Morgana’s throat and all she did was laugh, taunt, mock, ridicule. He expected it, but that didn’t make this situation any worse.

Merlin finally decided that he wasn’t going to pretend anymore, and directed his gaze right at her own.

He remembered a time, years ago, so long that it felt like history, when Morgana had burst into Gaius’s chambers, crying because she had just soulgazed with Gwen, and now she truly _was_ cursed, and Uther’s death sentence hung over her head.

Gaius had comforted her, and Merlin had given her pointers on where to look instead; between the eyes, at the bridge of their nose, just for a moment – but tried not to show that he had adapted all of these techniques for himself.

He knew Arthur had soulgazed with Morgana the last time she had invaded Camelot, and it had given him unspeakable nightmares.

But Merlin was willing to risk that.

The darkness of the cave faded, but the darkness of Morgana’s heart remained. There were pieces of the girl she had once been, but unlike Gwen, she didn’t long for that past. She despised it. She thought of herself back then as weak, malleable, desperate for the approval of a man who despised her kind.

She was vindicated in her actions – and, with a sick twist of Merlin’s stomach, he knew that she was more vindicated than he was. He had essentially condoned the murder of his people by protecting Arthur instead of them; she hated him for it. She wanted magic back in the land, same as he did, and she was so unbearably lonely because no one could ever know who she really was, and anyone that did was either dead or hated her.

But the difference lay in their methods – Merlin could see the madness scratching at Morgana’s head, her loneliness pushing her to desperate measures. She no longer flinched at the murder of innocents; she was numb to it all. She had to be numb, or else the pain would start, and she could never be weakened like that again.

The soulgaze flickered away and died, and the hatred in Morgana’s eyes faltered, just for a moment, before flaring up once more. The rocks fell between them, but Merlin was satisfied by the fear in her face.

She knew that if he could get his magic back, there was nothing that would stop him.

Now he just had to deal with getting his magic back.

* * *

 

Merlin knew that this was the moment.

He had known since his magic had flooded back into him at the Crystal Cave and he rode off to Arthur’s rescue. This had to be the time, because there might not be another one, and Arthur deserved to know.

After all this time, Merlin had to let go.

Before his friend died, Merlin had to look him in the eye. Just once. Even if Arthur never let him get close enough again, Merlin wanted to see Arthur’s eyes for more than a fleeting, fearful second.

“I’m a sorcerer,” Merlin’s voice broke as he clutched at Arthur’s shoulder so tightly that he was certain it was hurting the other man. “I have magic. And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur was laughing, nervously and weakly, his grip on Merlin becoming softer and gentler. “You’re not –”

“Didn’t you ever wonder,” Merlin said softly, “why I didn’t look you in the eye?”

Arthur’s breath hitched. “I – I never – Oh, God, I’m an idiot. I trusted you!” Arthur’s voice broke as he wrenched his arm away from Merlin’s own. “And you’ve lied to me all this time. You – you’ve never – you _coward._ I’ve never seen the real you, have I? It’s all just been an act.”

“Not everything,” Merlin whispered. “Not always.”

“Get away from me.”

“Arthur.”

“Leave me. Now.”

“Arthur, please, look at me!” Merlin pleaded, grabbing Arthur’s face in his hands, and pulling him closer, trying desperately to look into Arthur’s eyes, but the other man had his eyes firmly closed, scrunched up and in pain. He didn’t want to see Merlin. “Please, I need you to see me.”

“Ten years,” Arthur whispered furiously. “Ten _years_ , Merlin. You don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right,” Merlin said quietly, his hands falling away from Arthur’s face. “I don’t. But you do. After all this time, you deserve to know why. You need to know, Arthur.”

Arthur’s eyes remained steadfastly closed, and Merlin slumped over, giving up. He knew that this wouldn’t be easy, but he had always thought that the soulgaze would help mend things between them. But Arthur was right. Merlin didn’t deserve that.

He retreated to the other side of the fire, poking it lightly with a stick, making a fiery dragon float up into the smoke. He heard a quick intake of breath, and saw Arthur looking at the dragon with an unreadable expression. Merlin turned away before he heard Arthur’s voice, heavy and desperate. “Look at me.”

Merlin turned to meet his eyes.

He had been right, all those years ago, when he realized he didn’t need a soulgaze to know Arthur’s soul. He knew Arthur better than he knew himself; he knew Arthur inside and outside, completely and always, understood him in a way that Merlin didn’t understand himself. He didn’t need to see Arthur’s nobility, honor, sacrifice, kindness – he already knew that. So the soulgaze showed him something different.

He saw Arthur’s world being torn apart, the pain of Merlin’s revelation driving a deep hole into his chest. Arthur had been betrayed, so many times and by unlikely sources, but he had never imagined Merlin hurting him like this. He trusted Merlin above everyone, even Guinevere and his knights. He sought out Merlin’s approval with every word he spoke. He only insulted and berated Merlin to cover up for the fact that he felt more deeply for Merlin than he felt for anyone other person he had met. He adored Guinevere, he missed Morgana, and his father was always in his mind’s eye –

But he _loved_ Merlin. This betrayal was the worst of all because Arthur had loved Merlin, put him on the highest of pedestals, never thought him capable of wrong or evil, always wanted to do his best just for Merlin’s sake if no one else’s, was so utterly blind to anything outside of Merlin waking him in the morning, shoving him during the day, talking with him quietly over a campfire at night.

And even now, he _still_ loved Merlin, so much it was tearing him to pieces.

The soulgaze fell away and Merlin was left looking at Arthur’s exhausted face, not able to read emotion from just a simple look.

But Merlin could look in his eyes now – bright blue, with flecks of white, tired and regretful now, but he could imagine them crinkling in laughter, lazy with sleep, and utterly beautiful.

“You love me,” Arthur whispered after a moment, voice trembling with emotion.

“ _You_ love _me_ ,” Merlin’s eyes threatened to overcome with tears. “Is it enough?”

“To forgive you? No,” Arthur said, and Merlin swallowed, shuddering. “I _forgive_ you because everything you’ve done is for my sake. You’ve never sought any credit for any of your actions. Guilt has been eating you alive ever since you met me. You don’t just love me – you love Camelot and its people. I always thought you were brave, but I never realized you were so – so – you have this unspeakable darkness in you. You’re not perfect. I guess I needed to realize that eventually.”

“You’re saying that you thought I was perfect?” Merlin shook his head uncomprehendingly as true tears spilled over his face. He unsteadily made his way back toward Arthur, to sit next to him – a foot or so away, but close enough that he could keep an eye on the wound more effectively.

“No,” Arthur scowled. “Well, yes. Only in the ways that mattered.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said quietly after a moment, “for not telling you.”

“I understand,” Arthur groaned in pain as he tried to shift, and Merlin quickly took a hold of his shoulders.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Merlin leaned in to press a kiss to Arthur’s temple. He didn't know the etiquette for a situation as terrible and wonderful and earth-shattering as this one. But if Arthur was going to die, he might as well kiss him, just once.

“You still have a lot to make up for,” Arthur told him as he pulled away, but his eyes were bright and genuine. “If I survive long enough to get back to Camelot, you’ll be mucking out the stables for weeks.”

Merlin pulled Arthur closer to him, the closest they could get to a hug with Arthur in his armor, but Arthur relaxed into Merlin’s touch, and he could feel Arthur shaking, whether from the pain of his wound or the soulgaze, he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you,” Arthur’s words were muffled by Merlin’s shoulder. “I was – wrong – before. You deserve much better than me.”

“No,” Merlin whispered back. “I really don’t. That unspeakable darkness? I know what it is.”

“So do I,” Arthur surprised him by saying. “And I forgive you for that, too.”

“Even if I give into it? Become like Morgana?”

“You won’t.”

“You’re dying. I could.”

“You won’t.”

“I won’t,” Merlin promised, and cradled Arthur’s head in his hands as they sat there together, understanding one another completely for the first and last time.


End file.
